


Spectre

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Just for the record, Realizations, Tumblr Prompt, one of them is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-22 18:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4845512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't until he can no longer interact with the physical world that Sync begins to think beyond the hatred locked inside of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spectre

Dead. Finally. Sync couldn’t have asked for a more perfect solution. He felt it, the moment his fonons finally dissipated from his physical form, the second his consciousness went out like a snuffed lantern. The anticipation made everything okay, every pain in his body like a welcoming friend.

_This_ however was not what he had expected.

He floated around, borne on nothing but otherworldly breezes, currents that he couldn’t place but simply knew they were there. This incorporeal form did nothing to solidify his beliefs in anything but the horrible nature of human beings, but it was still… interesting, far more interesting than living had been. In this form, he could see things he had no idea existed before - he could  _feel_ the fonic resonance of the human souls, some dead like him, others still trapped within the confines of a body.

But the strangest thing was the colors.

Souls in vibrant blues and reds, hues he didn’t even have a name for, all glowing around Auldrant like beacons to the lost. He  _wooshed_  past people of all kinds, and as he dragged his fingers through the colors and felt the shiver that passed through the actual human body, he got a taste of that person’s core. Emotions overwhelmed him, pricking at his memories and experiences and drawing him into things that weren’t his to know.

Some souls were dimmer, and these he discovered were replicas, pale whites and cremes to the harsh blues and oranges others carried. Once in a while, he saw sparks of other colors, rainbow hues, and realized as he passed through Daath, Florian shared that myriad of color with anyone he spoke to, anyone he touched. It hurt, and Sync retreated from it, feeling in a way he never thought possible.

He found a single soul resting in the woods, a meagre fire pit set up where he was busy roasting his catch. Sync settled nearby, on another wooden log, and placed his spiritual chin in his ghostly hands while he watched Luke fon Fabre cook. The little blue cheagle always with him was settled on the ground, curled up with a small scrap of fabric over his body. Luke looked down at the small creature with a fond smile, but even Sync could see the loneliness in his eyes.

What had caught Sync’s attention though was the warring colors within the boy. The peaceful rainbow or monochrome colors of the other people couldn’t hold a candle to the flames Luke’s soul produced. It was like watching fireworks, sparks of color flaring briefly to life before simmering down with others, until the next spark. Sync reached out, curious despite himself, and ran his fingers through it all, feeling Luke shudder where he sat and his fingers pause in their turning of the spit.

_Akzeriuth guilt guilt guilt never enough never enough always at fault will never be forgiven better alone always alone no one to blame but me me me me and i have to do something or it will tear me apart before i know it before i can do anything and -_

Sync jerked away, his hand feeling burned despite having no physical capability, and noticed Luke bent over himself, one arm wrapped around his middle. He was fairly certain he saw tears glistening in the other’s eyes. Luke released the spit and covered his face with the newly freed hand, shuddering lightly.

This was the boy Sync had hated so fervently in life. This…  _child_ who perhaps was not so different than himself, yet had had all the ease of a pampered life, had never had to face hardship. Now, though, Luke was utterly,  _utterly_ alone, and Sync couldn’t help but simply float nearby, watching and waiting and seeking something within Luke that simply didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispered.

_I know_ , Sync whispered back, though the breezes carried it away. His voice was never meant for human ears.

Floating there, without the poison of living as a human being, allowed Sync a completely different perspective than he expected. He held no judgement in that moment, nothing but curiosity that he half wondered if it only existed in something no longer corporeal. Was this the boy he had truly wanted to kill? He could no longer tell. All he knew was the soul trapped within that body was tormented, and he had only tasted such torment.

He didn’t know how long he could remain, but he settled once more on the log nearby, watching as Luke eventually got himself together and continued turning the spit.


End file.
